When I was 20 years old, I went with my parents to a dinner at the home of my father's college roommate. They hadn't seen each other in close to 10 years and over dinner both my mom and dad, who met as freshmen at Penn State, engaged the old boy in a steady round of college stories. As a sophomore at Penn State myself, all of their antics seemed rather tame to me but it was fun to see my folks having so much fun. The roommate was on his second wife. Just about the same age—well, maybe a few years younger—but markedly different from the other three adults at the table. Her perfume swirled around my nose and from where I sat I had a good angle on her firm, surgically enhanced tits as they strained against the silk fabric of her blouse. Was it my imagination or was she leaning my way on purpose?
I'd only lost my virginity a year earlier with a girl in my geology lab who, as I later found out, selected me as the one to lose her virginity with because I seemed the least threatening boy she could imagine going to bed with. Frankly, I was a little offended. But I was also horny and not one to turn down such an opportunity. So we dutifully had safe sex, two strips of condoms at the ready, and went our separate ways. As for my sex life since then, I quickly made up for lost time and liked to think that maybe I was a little more threatening than I had been. One girl, a drunken sorority type I ran into at my frat's end-of-semester bash, told me I had the biggest cock she'd ever seen (and by all accounts she'd seen quite a few).
"It turns me on but kinda freaks me out, too, tell the truth. But it turns me on more."
She wrapped her delicate and neatly manicured fingers around my shaft.
"Freaky. Fuck."
She opened her pretty mouth wide and took me in.
"Me like," she said happily before taking me deeper. To make sure she felt every inch, I fucked her mouth for a good long time, shot a load into her hairy cunt and, an hour later, fucked her again, this time up the ass, a new experience for both of us. An hour after that she asked for it again—but harder. I now make sure she gets on the fraternity guest list for every party.
For some reason the wife who now sat to my immediate right at the round dinner table reminded me of this girl. I couldn't figure it out at first but after about a half an hour, as my parents and the roommate got lost in their memories, I realized it was the way she looked at me. Hungry, like the sorority girl. And like the sorority girl, she was getting drunk.
"What are you studying at Penn State?" she asked me out of the blue as the other three launched into another rowdy memory from years ago.
"Not sure yet," I answered truthfully. "Business probably. Well, that's what Dad wants but I kind of like history. Maybe I'll minor."
"I studied Art," she offered and I immediately thought of Mrs. Robinson from "The Graduate." Remember the scene where Benjamin wants to talk for once, rather than launching right into the sex? Mrs. Robinson reveals that she was studying art when she met her husband and might have continued doing so had she not gotten pregnant. The parallel between Dustin Hoffman's predicament in that movie and the situation I found myself in at present only fueled my fantasy. I wanted this woman and, somehow, I knew she felt the same.
"We have dessert. Tiramisu. I made it myself and I don't want to hear anybody saying they're dieting. You are all going to try it," she announced somewhat sloppily, the scotch having clearly made its impact.
"Great!" said my dad. His attention immediately went back to his roommate and within seconds they were reliving a water-fight against the Tri-Delts that ended in a boisterous slip and slide party on the lawn in front of Old Main. The wife started to clear the table and, doing my best to hide my erection, I helped.
"Hey, honey," said the roommate. "Get it ready but give us a few minutes. I want them to see the pool."
"It's November. The pool is empty and covered."
"We'll just take a quick look, honey. Get the dessert ready, we'll be back in a flash." And off they went.
"A flash, my ass," said the wife. One hand filled with salad bowls, she reached for her scotch but she knocked it over by mistake. "Shit."
I started to clean it up but she barked at me, "Leave it. It's good for the wood," a comment that made her squeal with drunken laughter. "Follow me."
So, balancing a stack of dinner dishes and silverware, I followed her into the kitchen. Carefully placing everything on the counter by the sink, I saw that she was not exercising similar caution. She literally dumped the bowls into the sink and one of them shattered.
